Monday, April 20, 2015

enough to just about break your heart, if you let it

A woman just came to the door, asking for work.

Like a depression era drifter.

A broke down lady with blue, blue eyes and a black backpack.

She looked clean enough, said she and her daughter had just become homeless and were trying to get a motel for the night.

She didn't strike me as a junkie, or a thief, but you really never know.

Mark would not have approved of me talking to her, to giving her a $20, to telling her how sorry I was.

He doesn't like me giving people money like that. He thinks I'm a soft touch (I am).  

It's getting dark, and I don't have any work to do.

If she'd come yesterday or Saturday, she could have helped me with the garden, Maxwell wasn't worth a good goddamn on Saturday with the garden.

He spilled the cedar chips all over the sidewalk and then huffed and puffed a great deal when I asked him to sweep up.

"that's money, you are leaving on the sidewalk."

He doesn't care very much.

That is the side effect of having mostly all you need, a willingness to leave things lay.

Two weeks ago I hired a man named Walter to clean up our shameful mess of a yard.

The mower's been broken for a while and it shows.

I asked my friend John to take a look at it while we were having coffee weeks ago, now.

He tinkered around and got it going, after washing out the fuel filter with gasoline and messing around with the spark-plug, but there is something off with the idle.

John's good with fixing stuff, being an engineer, I suppose, but he wasn't keen to "spend the better part of the afternoon" trying to figure out that idle.

I had high hopes my invitation to dinner would change his mind, but it didn't.  That's when I phoned up Walter from a flier, and he said he'd come right over, and he did.

I liked Walter right away.

I liked his glasses, his horned rimmed glasses.  

Mark thinks I'm foolish for basing my decisions on things like that, but I don't care.

I treated myself to that yard work and I am happy with the results.

I almost never feel like people are going to rip me off, and they almost never have, not the ones I've dealt with directly at least.

This lady at the door, she could be up to no good.

I said, thinking of Mark and his distrust of people,

"I'm a stay at home mom.  I'm just here day and night, with my dog, so I do all the work there is to do, and I'm married, so what I don't do, he does."

I thought I was being extra crafty, letting her know someone is here most of the time.

I have my nosy neighbor looking out, next door of course.  The one that likes to look through binoculars, at everybody.

The lady hugged me when I gave her that little dab of money.

She said "your eyes are stunning, your are so pretty" and I told her hers were too, because they were, I told her that she was a beautiful person to do what she was doing for her daughter.  She had acne scars, a lovely smile,  an open face, a pretty wave to her hair.  I hope she's ok.   

When the woman left, I thought I should have offered her some food to take along.  I felt like a real creep for not doing that, but what to do?


  1. I think you did great! It sounds like you are navigating like a champ! I am glad you were able to help her!

    I think if she jumped on a crowdfunding site and asked for help, she would get what she needs for herself and her daughter!

    Good luck with your yard work. When you're done, come out to Cherry Valley! We have plenty! And bring your kids!

  2. This is lovely. I don't trust people, in the sense that I rarely believe in the stories they tell in situations like this. (I rarely believe the stories people tell about their situations and how they got here under any circumstances, I guess! A person's story has to perform so many functions, and reporting reality is low on the list.) But I think it's lovely to help someone out and make a human connection. What are we here for, after all?